


But life — it goes on.

by Othalla



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othalla/pseuds/Othalla
Summary: A conversation at the end of things.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	But life — it goes on.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partiallight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partiallight/gifts).



> Thanks Rain for the grammar assistance!

It’s the End of the World, again and for the first time, and Hades is debating what it means to be alive with a shade of his own making. 

“Quite akin to the definition of insanity,” the shade of Hythlodaeus adds helpfully, and Hades might not be able to see the grin through the darkness of Hythlodaeus’ cowl but he is nonetheless perfectly aware of its existence. “As am I but a soulless creation, void of heart and void of potential. I’m practically a walking statue, come to think of it.” 

The shade makes a thoughtful noise, its head turning to the side in apparent thought. “Hades, is there a plaque somewhere in the worlds with my name and notable achievements on it? Because if so, I would dearly like to visit it.”

Hades sends a look he knows would make most people cower the shade’s way, but the suggestion of mirth stays. “The Aether knows a creation of _you_ would be this annoying.”

“Ah,” the shade drums its fingers against the ground, “but then if I had been anything else, the construct itself would have been faulty, would it not?” 

The shade pulls a strand of grass, root and all, out of the ground, holding it up against the backdrop of the undersea sun. “Would I be a shade of Hythlodaeus if you did not find me aggravating, or would I simply be grey mist in a cloak? Well dressed,” the shade lets the strand of grass fall through its fingers, “but without substance.”

Hades sniffs, his nose scrunching with the motion. “Like you had substance in life – you’ve always been more talk than anything, constantly forgetting the things you’d promised for whatever shiny idea sprung into your mind, leaving me to deal with the consequences.”

“That does sound like me,” the shade hums in agreement. “In my defense, though, those promises were often made under duress - I can’t have been expected to keep them when they involved doing things as boring as paperwork and _proper_ regulation. The Aether knows the convocation felt too strong an attachment to the written word and propriety both for my tastes.” 

Hades snorts. “Your lack of respect never ceases to amaze me. The fact you were ever considered for the position of Emet-Selch - Elidibus would have an aneurysm should he ever learn of the things you’ve said.”

The shade bursts into laughter. “Oh, he would, wouldn’t he? You should definitely enlighten him and record the event - it would bring me much amusement.”

“And me much grief,” Hades contends. “I have not quite yet reached that level of self-flagellation, I’ll have you know.”

Instead of a quick-witted reply as Hades expects, the shade grows silent, clearly contemplating its answer. When it - because it is an _it_ , is it not? Hades _made_ it from scraps and salt - finally speaks, it’s voice seems to hold the weight of the worlds behind it.

“And yet,” the shade puts a hand on its chest and holds it there, “here I am. Would you not call that self-flagellation, old friend?”

For a moment, Hades does not know how to respond. Because, for all his bravado, it’s not like the shade is wrong. This reflection of Amaurot is not a bandage meant to sooth his hurts, but rather a cloth he keeps putting and pulling away from an open wound, keeping it open and bleeding and hurting for as long as he’ll live and - 

Hades plans to live for a very long time. He has too much to accomplish not to, too many mistakes to make right and too many souls on his conscience.

The shade of Hythlodaeus lies down on its back, staring upward at the approximation of the Amaurotine sky Hades remembers from his youth. His memories, for all that they’re supposedly recreated to perfection here, seem more vivid than the stars dancing through the clouds above. The stars grow duller every time he looks at them.

Slowly the sea water is seeping through the veil, and the tide will eat away at the illusion until there is nothing left but grey stone and the suggestion of a memory.

“I am a shade of the End Times,” the shade of Hythlodaeus says finally, its voice lacking the mirth usually found in it. In its stead Hades can only hear a quiet warmth. “I have no memory of my own past the day I sundered with the stars above and the souls beside me.”

The shade turns to face Hades, its face as always hidden, and Hades does know not what expression hides beneath the cowl. “All I have is what you have given me.”

Hades blinks, unsure of where the shade is going with this. “And what have I given you? Besides the shape of you and the past we share, what else is there?”

The shade laughs. “Everything! You do not see it for it is too bright for your eyes and you live in a deep sea of your own making.” The shade spreads its hands out to the sky, reaching out as if to touch it. “But the world is alive, Hades. Every time you create me, I move both closer and further apart from your memory of who I used to be. I am sundered, yes, and the particles of my soul won’t ever regroup in the configuration they used to, but – “

The shade – _Hythlodaeus_ – puts his hand on Hades’. It does not, to Hades’ senses, feel like a hand touching him through the cloth of his glove. There is barely anything approaching pressure. But there is something there, something _real_ , and Hades does not know what to make of it. 

He did not create it, and yet there it is, _alive_. Different from what he remembers, from the Hythlodaeus of his childhood, but there is -

The ghost of Hythlodaeus smiles, and Hades can see it with his eyes just as he can feel it within his soul. 

“Do I need to be born anew when, around me, I am a source of endless creation?”

-

Maybe, Hades thinks as he looks down upon this world from his perch at the top of the Crystal Tower, there is some worth to be found in this, too.


End file.
